


Complex

by maggsam



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Havoc and Nakedness Ensue, Mention of Scott McCall - Freeform, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 22:54:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5684140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maggsam/pseuds/maggsam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I needed a drink of water after my shower but I forgot that I opened the blinds to my balcony and you just saw me walk into my kitchen naked.” </p><p>A prompt for Stydia-Fanfiction.tumblr.com</p>
            </blockquote>





	Complex

  
  
It’s the second time she’s called to complain. Apartment #327 was up to it’s usual antics, and honestly it wouldn’t bother her so damn much as long as the antics occurred during decent human hours. Not when it was nearing one AM and she had a thesis to present in the morning. Not when the apartment directly across from hers allowed their rambunctious noise to echo through the open square courtyard of the apartment complex.

It wasn’t until she heard the smashing of glass and an amused voice cry out, “SCOTTY!” that she swiped her phone from her bedside table and ferociously punched in the number of the complex security.

There was a crinkling noise and then,

“Let me guess,” the woman on the other end of the line spoke through a smoky cigarette drag. “Lydia Martin, 317.”

She pursed her lips, blood boiling.

“Yup. Me again Miss Pisarcik. 317. And still wide awake thanks to 327. You are aware this complex is solid concrete, right? You do know the open courtyard allows sound waves bounce of the nearest object it comes in contact with, right? YOU DO HAPPEN TO UNDERSTAND THAT THE NEAREST OBJECT TO 327 IS MY ROOM, RIGHT?”

In hindsight, Lydia fully understood the ramifications of snipping at her building manager, but she was giving a presentation on thermonuclear astrophysics and everything had to go perfectly. And that included not needing a copious amount of concealer to cover the under eye bags she was certain she’d get if 327 didn’t shut. The. Hell. Up.

She listened to Miss Pisarcik take an extra long drag before replying in a husky voice, “You know what, sweetie? Security has had a busy night as it is. Why don’t you just take care of this one yourself.”

She was going to write a _scathing_ review of this apartment complex on Google tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

 

Lydia was now in possession of 327’s telephone number, and she marveled at the power of it, along with security’s complete disregard for personal privacy. She hoped to _God_ no one ever got her personal number just because Miss Pisarcik was lazy.

Lydia crossed over to her balcony, watching as light spilled through the blinds of the opposing apartment, shadows occasionally crisscrossing, the bass of garbled music low and thrumming. Viciously she punched in the number. It rang twice before--

“Yo,” a voice drawled out, slow and uncaring.

“This is apartment 317. Shut the hell up.”

That got the recipient's attention.

“Aw babe, why you gotta be like that?”

“Seriously, what the hell are you doing in there?! Do you have a giant gorilla smashing plates and playing shitty music?”

“Shitty mu--?!”

“You’re being incredibly obtuse about the needs of others!”

“I have needs too! I NEED to play shitty music and let this giant gorilla smash all my plates, thank you very much!”

“I have a goddamn thesis tomorrow! A GODDAMN THESIS.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t understand. Did you say you had a goddamn thesis? Just making sure.”

“SHUT UP, 327!”

“KISS MY ASS, 317!”

She slammed the phone down with as much force as she could muster. Lydia couldn’t even find it in herself to be grateful even when the music was turned down.

 

 

* * *

 

  
A number she didn’t recognize was calling.

“Hello?”

“317? It’s 327.”

She ripped the phone away from her ear with a glare before returning it back, muttering, “Well what can I do for you today, 327? Would you like me to euthanize that gorilla in your apartment?”

“That gorilla is currently back in his own place, treating wounded animals like the gold-hearted gorilla he is.”

“So why the call.”

“Just wanted to be sure your goddamn thesis was taken care of.”

Lydia stopped in her tracks, the clicking of her heels silencing at the stranger's words. Sure she had aced her thesis, and sure she had received honors for it, but dammit she barely had time to slip on her pencil skirt and curl her hair and it was completely 327’s fault.

Whoever this 327 was, he was a little shit, hidden behind permanently closed blinds and unfortunately situated directly across from her apartment. He was a shadow pacing, boisterous hubbub at three in the morning, and a cantankerous conversationalist. He strung Lydia tight like a red string, waiting to be plucked.

“Well,” she sniffed, “I got honors, but no thanks to _you_.”

“I guess I’ll have to try harder next time. Why didn’t I consider a second gorilla? Now that’s just common sense.”

“Common sense is not so common.”

“Don’t quote Voltaire to me, he’s a fucker.”

For the second time in their heated phone call, he made Lydia stop in her tracks.  
It shouldn’t have. It’s not like Voltaire was a secret topic of conversation kept only within the realm of elitist scholars, but it was still not everyday someone picked up on her linguistic nuances.

“Well…” she trailed off, momentarily caught off guard. Something else that never happened. “Bye.”

She hung up before he could respond.

 

* * *

 

 

One week and 327 had remained relatively under control. She no longer woke up to glass shattering at early morning hours, and he hadn’t called her since her abrupt goodbye. Lydia liked to think he had learned his lesson, that being abrasive and upfront had caused him to subdue his impulse for destruction while the complex slept.  
  
Lydia had to believe it, otherwise it would be admitting that the opposite was true. She hadn’t startled him, he had startled _her_.

One week.

No noise, no call, just a shadow passing back and forth behind closed blinds.

 

* * *

 

 

Two weeks later at nine in the morning on a Sunday, the blinds were open.

Lydia almost didn’t notice at first. She had brought her coffee onto the balcony, relishing the peace and quiet. But then, there it was. It was a sight she had never seen, and she locked on, taking in the details of the brightly lit apartment.

There was a couch on the left hand side, a computer and desk on the opposite wall. It was an open floor plan, just like her own. She was looking through the living room, directly into his kitchen. It was cleaner than she expected, save for a pair of boxers draped over the arm of the sofa, and a pizza box cluttering a kitchen counter.  
  
The shattering of glass and the thudding of a bass two weeks ago had disillusioned her vision of the apartment.    
  
….Not that she had visualized his apartment. At all.  
  
She allowed herself to stand and snoop for a few minutes, sipping absentmindedly at the coffee dregs.  
  
And then there he was.  
  
Strutting across the apartment.  
  
Unapologetic, unknowing, hair wet and completely, 100%, honest-to-god-stark-fucking-naked.

 

Many things happened at once.  
  
Lydia dropped her coffee cup and it fell to the concrete patio, cracked. Lydia let out a yelp. Lydia’s analytical and quick mind also took in as many details as possible before she had a chance to shut it off.

He was tall and lean. He had really, _really_ nice shoulders. His flushed lips were obscenely parted. His brows were furrowed for no apparent reason. His dark, wet hair stuck up in odd angles as he viciously scrubbed a towel through it. His hands were nice too. Big. Slender fingers.  
  
He marched over to his fridge, cracking it open and downing a water bottle like he was in the Sahara rather than an air controlled apartment.  
Lydia watched the muscles of his back shift as her vision began to tunnel.

His ass…

And then he turned and _stretched_. He was one long, limbed line and Lydia followed the line down, down, down…

Every atom in her body screamed at her to get a grip but she was quite distracted by the trail of dark hair below his bellybutton, and even more distracted by what lay beyond that.

It was an embarrassingly long time before her mind finally caught up with her body. She realized she had performed quite the examination.

  
  
Lydia felt her heart sputter back to life in her chest and she sucked in a breath, but not before choking on it once more, because 327 was full-frontal and nude and also staring at her.

 

They both froze.

Lydia like a deer in headlights, 327 blinking rapidly, mouth parting like a fish out of water.

He was caught, and she was caught ogling how he was caught.  
  
She wanted to bolt. She wanted to desperately pretend like she couldn’t feel her cheeks flush, like she didn’t notice the rosy blotches appearing beneath his own ( _impressive_ ) cheekbones.

(And that wasn’t the only impressive feature).

 

Instead Lydia sucked in a breath, cocked a hip, and arched an eyebrow.  
  
327’s demeanor changed.  
  
She saw his chest move as he huffed a silent, incredulous laugh. And then he was there with her. An arched brow, a shit-eating grin.

 

* * *

  
  
  
  
It was only thirty minutes before there was a knock on her door.

“317,” he said in greeting.

“I think we’re past that now,” she smirked. “You can call me Lydia.”

“Stiles.”

“What the hell is a Stiles?”

“Oh I think you’ve seen it.”

They both grinned mischievously at each other.

“Your blinds were open.”

“I noticed.”

“Yeah," she smirked. "So did I. Must have been the gorilla’s doing.”

“Sometimes I hate that damn gorilla.”

“You’re also wearing clothes.”

“Indeed I am.”

Lydia pulled the door further open, exposing her apartment in welcome.

“We can right that, if you’d like.”

Stiles grinned and stepped forward.

“Your wish is my command, Lyds.”  


Lydia closed the door behind them.

  


**Author's Note:**

> redstringbanshee.tumblr.com xx


End file.
